


this has to be the world’s worst game of hide and seek

by crownofcherries



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, F/M, Reader is a med student, Resident Evil 3, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:22:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24041278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownofcherries/pseuds/crownofcherries
Summary: easy peasy. all you have to do is survive the massive hordes of flesh-eating zombies, a giant weapon in a suit with a hard-on for s.t.a.r.s. members, and a russian sociopath who’s already going grey.no big deal, right?
Relationships: Carlos Oliveira/Reader, Carlos Oliveira/Reader-Insert, Carlos Oliveira/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> first resident evil fic, go easy on me.

You were dragged out of your slumber by the long, sorrowful wail of the sirens outside. Slow and stagnant, it stood a stark contrast against the sounds of the storm that rattled the glass in the windows. Flashes of blue and red hues took turns lighting up your dark apartment, the sun having gone down on Raccoon City just hours before.

You spared a quick glance at the alarm clock on your nightstand. The digital interface, usually so bright it strained your just-waking eyes, was strangely dim, signaling that something was up with the power. You frowned.

You made your way out of bed and over to the light switch on the wall, flicking it on and off a couple times to no avail. It made sense, when you thought about it- it wasn't like a power outage would be constrained only to your bedside table.

As your face twisted once more, it was then that you noticed the pale yellow sticky note that was stuck to your cheek; you must have nodded off during another one of your late night study sessions. You peeled it off and squinted at it in the dim light. You couldn't make it out, but judging by the anatomy book that lay open on your messy, unmade bed, it wasn't all that hard to guess what it could say. 

Anatomy was probably your least favorite class at Raccoon City University. All medical students had to take it along with what felt like countless other prerequisite courses, but it's not like you were in a position to complain. You'd been accepted through a full-ride scholarship offered by some pharmaceutical company headquartered in the area, and were practically being paid to study at one of the best schools in the country.

Well, it wasn't just some company. Specifically, it was the Umbrella Corporation, a pharmaceutical company that seemed to have wormed its way into every little crevice of Raccoon City.

You’d always been wary of Big Pharma companies like Umbrella, partially due to the ever-growing opioid crisis that plagued the country. Your own mother had been a victim of painkiller addiction, making it a topic that hit very close to home, and since her passing a couple years back you’d developed somewhat of a mistrust of the companies that promoted the same drugs that killed her.

However, like you said earlier, you just weren’t in the position to complain. You couldn’t look this particular gift horse in the mouth, seeing as there was no other way you could have afforded college otherwise. Like it or not, Umbrella had given you the opportunity to go to med school- they had even gone so far as to get you an internship at the local hospital- and you wouldn’t be where you were today without them. So, begrudgingly, you owed them your gratitude.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been mulling over your questionable relationship with your faceless benefactor, but you’re abruptly pulled from your internal monologue from what sounds like a car crash outside.

Normally, you’d brush this off- you’d been hearing the city streets and their various ruckus since the day you moved in- but it struck you that, one: a sundown curfew had been put in place in an attempt to suppress the recent spike in violence throughout the city, and two: you lived on the fourth floor of your apartment complex, yet the loud crash you heard was very, very close to where you were.

A shiver ran down your spine, and instinctively you moved to grab the hunting knife you kept stored under your pillow; it was a habit you had picked up back home from your father, who had drilled it into you that preparation was the key to survival. You’d always thought of your dad as somewhat of a paranoid kook, but nonetheless you were glad you’d accepted the large blade he’d offered as a graduation present- you don’t know how many times you’ve cut your hand checking if it was still there upon hearing a scuffle outside.

You hear another crash, and as the ground beneath you began to shudder and quake, you knew you had to get out of there now.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you begin your escape.

On instinct you move towards the entrance to your apartment, but a flickering light shining through the small crack above the floor stops you in your tracks. The reflection of the orange glow dances across the linoleum, and you hesitate for a second before lightly pressing the back of your hand to the door. It's warm, and you curse inwardly as you set your eyes upon your only other way out.

In a few quick strides you've crossed your small apartment, and your mounting anxiety causes you to struggle with the latch on the window before you're finally able to open it. As you climb out and step onto the (aptly named) fire escape, you're finally able to see the pure, unadulterated chaos that the city has fallen into. 

The storm had not let up, not even the smallest amount, and the power outage was not limited to your apartment complex but instead extended as far as you could see; the city, it seemed, was now primarily lit by the raging fires that had broken out and spread across multiple buildings. Here and there cars were abandoned in the street, most either overturned or crashed into walls in apparent signs of some sort of frenzy. It seemed they were all heading out of the city en masse. 

In fact, the city's population was still trying to escape; from what, you didn't know. Gently leaning over the railing, you crane your neck to get a better view. Hundreds of people were in the streets, most of which were running while a few seemed to lag behind them. You couldn't blame them for being struck dumb with shock, instead feeling pity for those who were left behind with arms outstretched, almost like they were to trying to desperately grasp onto those that were stronger, faster. 

Helplessly you watched as a woman flung herself out of her high apartment window that crawled with flames- she lands on the sidewalk with a sickening splat, her blood mixing with the rushing rainwater in order to paint a grotesque picture on the pavement. Not long after she was joined by man who, unfortunately, had not fallen from a great enough height to be killed instantly. His bloodied body shuddered and seized at unfortunate angles, making you avert your gaze in an attempt to give the dying man a little respect. It seemed he had also decided that suicide would be a better alternative to the slow agony of being burned alive, and you couldn't blame him or the woman. In this hellish situation, it was decidedly the lesser of two evils. 

The echo of close gunshots makes you tighten your grip on your knife, and you speed up your pace. Taking care not to slip on the wet metal, you scurried down the steps of the fire escape as quickly as you could. The adrenaline had finally kicked in, sending you through the damp, dark alley adjacent to your apartment complex faster than you ever thought was possible. 

It's at this moment that you realize you've forgotten a crucial item: your backpack. 

While your dad may have had not-so-gently offered you the knife, he'd basically force fed you the idea of a getaway bag. It held various important documents, some snacks, your ID cards, some other shit you can't really remember, and all of your money. If you'd have to start over in a new city, which was seeming more and more likely as the minutes passed and the screaming increased, you needed your backpack.

When you'd left, the fire had not yet reached your unit. Maybe there was still time. After a brief moment of hesitation, you find yourself heading back the way you came. 

As it turned out, going up multiple flights of stairs was a lot more taxing on the muscles, especially those of a medical student rather than a professional athlete, than going down them. Even more, the initial wave of adrenaline was already begging to wane, and you found yourself beginning to heave as you ascended. 

You don't quite make it back up to your floor. 

Instead, in the middle of your journey you are pushed into the railing by a panicked woman who seems to be in a very, very big hurry. She doesn't stop to apologize, grabbing you forcefully by the shoulders.

"Run," she says, the fear clear in her eyes. Her short hair is matted with blood and her clothes are torn in places. 

You're silent, eyes flickering between her and the staircase. 

Her grip tightens, "Trust me."

You notice the gun in her pocket. "You're with the police?"

She shrugs, the movement so slight you don't even catch it. "You could say that." Her words are quiet and fast, and she tugs on your arm as your glance still lingers towards your apartment. "Escape now. Questions later."

Another crash, even louder then the one you'd heard earlier, and the grip on your wrist that was already tight turns to a vice- the woman's begun sprinting away, and she's taking you with her. 

An inhuman voice sends chills up your spine, and you have to force yourself not to look back.

"S.T.A.R.S....."

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments mean more than you think!! much love


End file.
